Snape got it
by bhut
Summary: Snape finally gets the job of the DADA professor and then things start to get really weird.
1. Chapter 1

**Snape got it!**

**Day 1**

_Lasciate ogne speranza voi ch'intrate_

(All hope abandon ye who enter in!) The Divine Comedy, Inferno, III.9

…When Dumbledore stated – in his usual, "soft & casual" manner - that all six years that took DADA for this year had to come to a special meeting, nobody was surprised. After all, the DADA by now was reputed to be somewhat of a… cursed job, and nobody wanted to get cursed, no matter how remote or improbable the possibility was. They were, after all, wizards, and nobody knew better magic than wizards. Or so they thought, "Them" in question being various six years, mostly Gryffindors and Slytherins, with a few Ravenclaws and even Hufflepuffs thrown in just by luck or fate.

But mostly Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Surprisingly, there was a deviation of the norms – all the students that entered the room were told to place their wands on a table near the entrance for the duration of the Headmaster's speech. Since Dumbledore was reputed to most of the students (and not just Slytherins) to be a bit of an oddball for such a great wizard the request was complied without much complaint: the wands were put down and the students sat, helter-skelter, all over the classroom, not really caring with whom they sat – the meeting was informal, and few out of Slytherin cared for formality, and even a few of Slytherins didn't.

At any rate, it happened that Pansy Parkinson, not really watching where she sat, sat down at the same table that hosted Hermione Grainger, and that caused Millicent Bulstrode, who was a sort of a friend to Pansy, to sit at a table behind her. Of course, Pansy wasn't happy about that. "Now listen, Mudblood," she began, but then Headmaster Dumbledore decided to speak.

"And once more, students, good evening on the faculty's behalf," he spoke in a jovial tone that made more than one Slytherin want to smack him. "As you all know, you have had a bit of an erratic time when dealing with DADA teachers-"

"Erratic? Lupin was a werewolf!"

"Quirrel was a Death Eater!"

"No, the _fourth year's teacher _was a Death Eater!"

"Lockhart was a git!"

Slam! Surprisingly, Dumbledore interrupted this list of grievances of the students with the DADA teachers by slamming some metallic-looking staff into the floor. "Children, please," he said mildly, but no one really bought it now. "I know that you had rough times before, so this time I decided to play it safe, and gave the position to the man that had much coveted it before – the Hogwarts Master of Potions and the Dean of Slytherin Severus Snape!"

The next moment the room shook with a mighty howl, as many, nay – all student throats, even those of the Slytherin faculty, yelled in protest and disagreement.

Dumbledore waited until the storm of anguish died down, and then he mildly re-started to speak. "Does this mean that you don't want to be in DADA anymore?" A forest of hands arose. "Then I guess I _can_ tell the Aurors that I _have_ found volunteers for their new anti-dark curses antidotes to best tested upon, yes…"

There was a pause, as most of the students in class vainly searched for their wands, momentarily forgetting that they didn't have them at the moment, except for a few, and one of them happened to be Millicent, who still relied on her fists more than onto her wand. And although this didn't really work (she couldn't just walk over to the Headmaster and pummel him, now could she?), it also allowed her notice someone else.

Grainger. The Gryffindor Mudblood wasn't vainly groping for her wand but rather glaring at Dumbledore and otherwise behaving oddly – as if she had something in her sleeve and couldn't decided as to whether or not to use it. Millicent frowned in thought, and then Dumbledore spoke-up once more.

"So, I see that you all had a change of heart? Jolly good! Professor Snape will be absolutely _thrilled_! As for me, I'll be leaving now – please don't forget to pick up your wands when you leave!" Dumbledore stamped the staff and vanished in a cloud of smoke.

In the resulting confusion, as all students proceeded to sort-out their wands and leave for their dormitories or just leave anyways, Millicent managed to grab Hermione by the collar and "frog-march" her to a safe alcove.

"What do you want, Bulstrode?" Hermione snapped, and not very politely, as soon as she was released by the much stronger girl. "What is your damage?"

"Alright, Grainger, spill it!"

"Spill what?"

"What's your secret? Today, when old Dumby was spilling his crap, you didn't search in vain for your wand like all those others – you were measuring him for his casket as if you already could do so – how?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why should I tell you?" she asked.

"Because if you don't, all start to… strip-tease before you," Millicent said, using her usual line. Unfortunately, today it just didn't seem to work, or maybe Hermione was made of sterner stuff, or maybe…

"Well, alright. It's not like you'll be able to prove it or anything," she finally said, and produced from her sleeve... a wand. A rather rough-looking wand as well and… it wasn't her usual wand.

Millicent stared at the wand, thinking. "What's so special about this wand – made it yourself or something?" she asked.

"Yes."

There was a pause. "Must've taken you an entire summer."

"No, just two months."

"You spent two months of a summer making a spare wand? Jesus, Grainger, you need to get laid!"

There was another pause as Hermione glared at the bigger girl. "Graingers don't 'get laid,'" she finally spoke in a tone that suggested that any further discussion on that topic was highly unwelcome. But Millicent was a Bulstrode, and so – thick-skinned.

"That's too bad," she drawled, "because that would certainly ease-up a lot of things… although that's not very likely in your case. After all, the only boys in your life are Potter and Weasley-"

"And in yours? Have you gotten laid?"

Millicent was thick-skinned, but sometimes, some questions… "Well, I have entertained some thought about Draco Malfoy," she said rather coyly for her.

"And what does Pug-face have to say about it?"

"She doesn't know, and even if she did – she wouldn't care. I mean, I'm part Welsh, and that's bad."

"I don't know – I mean, she is a newblood1, not a pureblood yet."

"Yeah, Parkinsons are technically newbloods, but I'm part _Welsh_. That's almost as bad being a Mudblood."

"Gee, thanks," Hermione said, but more wryly than angry. "Are we finished with each other yet?"

"No, not really. Can you make me a spare wand too?"

"That's depends. I mean, my wands tend to burn-out if I try to do any really serious spells, you know?"

Belligerently, Millicent shook her hand. "I don't care."

"All right, fine. Now, what is your wand made out of?"

"Mountain spruce and a troll's heartstring."

"And how are we supposed to get a troll's heartstring?"

Millicent blinked. "Well, what about your wands?"

"Mine are walnut wood and feathers of a long-eared owl – much cheaper. Well, relatively cheaper, considering the state of my allowance, but still…"

Millicent paused, thinking. "What about Snape? Maybe he got some?"

"Then go and get it!"

"But you're the one with the cloak!"

"Firstly, it's Harry's, and secondly why should I go out of the way of helping you?"

Millicent froze. "Fine," she said, feeling strangely upset, "all see you at DADA tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, I guess," Hermione replied, looking somewhat odd. "Well, bye."

"Bye yourself!"

When Millicent arrived at her dorm, it was nearly empty, save from Blaise Zabini who was busy reading some Gothic novel or other, the rest of the girls gone to Hogsmeade without her once again.

Without any further ado she went and fell onto her bed, depressed as usual.

Or maybe not. This time, new thoughts were bursting through her usual shell of depression and apathy.

Grainger. The Gryffindor Mudblood. Smart enough to make her own wands – and she hated Pansy. If, somehow, Millicent could persuade her that taking Pansy out would make Grainger's while, then maybe one of the bigger obstacles of Millicent's goal of becoming one of the richest and powerful witches in Magical England would be removed. _And_ she'd have a friend.

Now from where did that come from?

Do Slytherins even have friends?

Startled, Millicent sat on her bed, causing a displeased glance from Blaize. "Gees, you make more noise than usual today, don't you?" she asked the bigger girl. "What's your damage? Snape?"

"Don't tell me that you're not worried," Millicent snapped back, protesting. "Now the rest of the school will hate us even more, and he'll be more insufferable as well!"

"We'll weather it," Blaise said in her cryptic manner. "Now if you excuse me, I have a book to read – do try not to disturb me again."

After exchanging a glare, the two Slytherin girls settled to ignore each other once again.

As surprising as it may sound, but Hermione wasn't invited by other girls to Hogsmeade as well, and that was nothing out of ordinary, either.

"Great, ignored again," all she said, knowing that all she'll receive if she'd try to raise a fuss would be a half-hearted apology from the twins and Lavender and nothing more, and Hermione hated that even more.

"I need to make some new friends," she mused aloud, looking at the empty dorm and sighing. "Unfortunately other than Bulstrode-"

Hermione paused, thinking. Unlike other Slytherins, like Draco and Pansy, Bulstrode usually wasn't too mean towards her, and now that that Snape was running DADA, and Dumbledore had finally snapped, some extra inter-house friendship couldn't hurt.

"Why don't we wait and see what'll happen tomorrow," Hermione decided for herself, starting to do her homework. "Maybe nothing will."

"Well, Severus, I trust that you are finally satisfied?" Dominic Zabini asked Severus Snape via the Floo powder.

"Yes sir, though I don't know how you did it-"

"And you won't. I, on the other hand, will get to know quite a lot, won't I, boy?"

"Yes sir," Snape nodded, emphatically. "And, after Richtler goes, I'll hold your hand, not Abraxas'."

"Good, and don't you forget it!" the patriarch of the Zabini family snapped and vanished.

As soon as that happened, Snape felt like collapsing upon himself. Life wasn't fair. If the Ministry, the DA, and the Death Eaters weren't enough, now the Mafia had taken control of his life as well, and there was no escape – he was the DADA teacher for good. Oh well. It not like he had much choice to begin with, right? Lockwood had warned him all those years back ago…

Severus Snape straightened-up. Tomorrow, he had his first DADA class to teach.

1 A wizard like Hermione, born of Muggles is a Mudblood. A wizard family of about two-three generations of non-Muggle blood is a Newblood. A wizard family of about eight-ten generations of non-Muggle blood is an Oldblood. And a wizard of over ten-eleven generations of non-Muggle blood is a Pureblood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2**

_E vidivi entro terribile stipa_

_Di serpenti, e di si diversa mena_

_Che la memoria il sangue ancor mi scipa_

(And I beheld therein a terrible throng

Of serpents, and of such a monstrous kind,

That the remembrance still congeals my blood)

The Divine Comedy, Inferno, XXIV.82-4

When the DADA class finally arrived, the students awaited it with a bit of trepidation. But just a bit. After all, the declaration of horror had occurred yesterday, and by now the students had enforced their courage by imbibing various beverages, quite a few of them – alcoholic.

Millicent plopped on one of the frontal seats – as usual. She was asked rarely anyways, even by Snape, so it mattered little as to where she sat.

Out of the corner of her eye she noted that Grainger and her friends sat in the front row too – small surprise there!

But that Pansy Parkinson sat behind her – now that was displeasing.

"Gee, Millie, where _were _you last night?" Pansy asked the bigger girl with a cruel smile. "We missed you so much at Hogsmeade!"

"Then next time maybe you should take her with you!" snapped Blaise, as she came over to the other two girls. "'Cause last night she constantly distracted me from my novel!"

"Gee, too bad. Some of us don't need novels to get aroused!"

"Yeah, I know that element of population too. They're called hookers."

"Ooh, how witty, Blaise."

"Hey, any more wit and I'd lose you, Pansy."

"Girls, girls," out of nowhere appeared Draco with his trademark goons, Crabbe and Goyle. "Fighting already, are we? Except for Millie, of course – now that's a good girl."

'We'll see what you'll say,' Millicent thought vengefully, 'once my ring's on your finger, and my hands on your neck!' But outloud she naught, and just… stole a look in the Grainger's direction – how was she doing?

Hermione was doing not really better.

"So, 'Mione, are you ready to experience the excitement that is Snape?" Ron spoke, as he, Hermione and Harry sat the class's front. Personally, Ron would've rather sat in the back, but Harry and Hermione had outvoted his decision, and so now he suffered. Well, not really suffered, more like he felt jittery in awaiting the suffering that was Snape.

And the latter didn't disappoint. The latter… just appeared in the doorway, carrying a hefty-looking staff, the same staff that was used yesterday by Dumbledore to teleport. This time Hermione was able to see it in greater detail… and what she saw caused her to frown in concern. She didn't like the look of that staff at all.

"Greetings, class!" professor Snape meanwhile continued, ignoring the students' glares – as always. "I am going to teach you DADA via the special and secret Death Eater program, so special, that the Death Eaters themselves don't know about it yet, never mind Voldemort. The program is based on the statements of ancient scriptures, dated far before the births of the Founders and the super-modern and super-secret methods, developed specifically for the Aurors by the Untouchables at the request of the Ministry of Magic."

There was a pause, and the skeptical grins started to appear on the faces of various students, especially those of male gender, like Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.

"You don't believe me?" professor Snape asked unusually mildly. Immediately, everybody stiffened, remembering that their problems were just beginning. "Very well. I'll make a demonstration. _Serpentsortia_!"

There was a pause in the air, and suddenly there were three huge, mean-looking serpents, glaring at the Potion Master. For a few seconds they looked at the man, and then they struck.

For the next few minutes the class just stared in shock at the twisting knot of sinewy bodies, and then something flashed – once, and twice, and thrice, and the walls were splattered with something dark and sticky, and the knot fell apart, and professor Snape arose, unharmed.

"Proof enough?" he said, without any mildness now.

In reply, about a third of the student body present promptly fainted.

It was some time later. Due to the faintings the today's class was dismissed earlier, and Millicent took that opportunity to catch and "frog-march" Hermione to their yesterday's meeting place again.

"You know, this is getting repetitious," Hermione grumbled at the older girl without much fear. This lack of fear made Millicent oddly surprised, almost pleased. "What do you want now?"

"Information," Millicent replied immediately. "This was real?"

"You have no idea just _how_ real. That staff – I've read about such magical items – it was made by High Elves long ago before the Founders were born indeed!"

"High Elves? Are we talking about house elves here?"

"No, 'our house elves' were the Hufflepuff Mudbloods of the elven race," Hermione explained. "Look, let's just say that that staff is a very ancient and powerful magical artifact and be done with it, okay?"

"No, not okay. How did it end-up in Dumbledore's hands?"

"Don't look at me," Hermione shook her head. "There are too many variables to make a serious statement."

"So make a non-serious one," Millicent suggested.

Hermione glared, but Millicent was made of sterner stuff than most other students and didn't flinch. "No, really, make one, and don't say that it's against the Grainger family code."

Hermione paused, visibly struggling, and finally admitted. "There are two versions. One is that Dumbledore has pulled the staff out of the 'larder' of the Ministry, but that's doubtful-"

"Wait. Why is it doubtful?"

"Hello, last year's events!"

"Yeah, but now it's over, right? The minister is on Dumbledore's side now?"

"Millicent, I'll reveal to you a terrible secret: the minister decides nothing in the Ministry. He can change our lives but he can't affect the Ministry. And it is the Ministry and its' workers that are not on Dumbledore's side or on Death Eaters'. The Ministry is looking out for itself!"

Millicent frowned in thought. "So it's not so much a two-way fight as a three-way fight? That's not good."

"No, because the loser may end up winning nothing more than a field of junk, if you know what I mean."

"The implications are clear enough. So the Ministry and Dumbledore aren't finished with each other yet and even You-Know-Who can't fundamentally change it. Then how did the staff get here?"

"The Forbidden Forest."

"You mean the centaurs?"

"Or somebody – or something – else. I really don't trust that forest, you know? It's full of wild magic and sorcery."

"Right," Millicent shrugged. "So Dumbledore got the staff on loan or something? I don't believe it."

"Me neither. And another thing-"

Sudden footsteps and voices in the main corridor interrupted Hermione before she could finish what she was saying, because they belonged to Harry and Ron.

Frantically and almost scared the two girls looked at each other. "We'll talk tomorrow," Hermione promised.

"Tomorrow is no DADA!"

"Tomorrow we have Care of the Magical Creatures! See you then!" and Hermione ran away.

Millicent Bulstrode remained behind, genuinely confused: how did what happened happen?

"So, Ron, what did disturb you so much that you couldn't wait to tell me?" Hermione asked her best friend Ron Weasley in a huff.

"Hey, don't take that tone with me, 'Mione," Ron said quite huffily himself. "After all, where have you vanished after the lesson?"

"Maybe I got sick and hid to relieve myself?"

"Err-" Ron froze, startled by that sudden vision that was so… unmatching to his mind's-eye view of Hermione.

"Harry?" Hermione turned to her other best friend, seeing that Ron apparently went into a stupor. Fortunately for both Hermione and Ron, Harry was quite coherent and sane.

"Look, Hermione, it's nothing, it's just that Ron had sort-of sent a message to his dad about the last day's event, and we discovered that the whole thing with the theoretical antidotes was a trick – Dumbledore had tricked us!"

"The bastard!" echoed Ron in a rumbling, sounding like one of his older brothers – Bill or Charlie. "I wish that we could pay him back!"

"Hmm," Hermione said, "I think I have a sort of an idea. Can you two keep quiet and let me think?"

Once again, Millicent was spending her evening alone, save for Blaise, who busy reading her usual Gothic novel. Only this time – things were different.

Different… that may have been too optimistic a word. So what if she and the Gryffindor seemed to have finally found some shared interests and what-not? That didn't have to do anything serious, nothing important! After all, say what you would, but Grainger did have friends – and they were good friends! And Millicent… had nothing. That was so depressing!

"Stop sighing already!" Blaise suddenly yelled, not breaking away from her book. "I'm trying to read here!"

That was a bad thing. Millicent's face darkened abruptly and she half-turned, intent on giving herself a good physical on behalf of Blaise, and that was nothing to smirk about – Millicent was - probably - the third strongest Slytherin after Crabbe and Goyle. Thus, if she had landed just one good punch at Blaise's head (her favorite place), the smaller girl would've knocked unconscious with ease. But, at that moment…

"Millicent Bulstrode?" some third year appeared in the dormitory doorway.

"What?" Millicent whirled around like an angry bear.

"Quiet!" added Blaise in her shrill voice.

In short, the third year just gave Millicent the note and quickly fled, unwilling to deal with two such formidable opponents, leaving the message to Millicent to read.

"…Well? What is it?" Blaise asked after a while, seeing that the bigger girl was keeping silence as she read.

"None of your business."

"Aw, come on!"

"It's a promise to make me an honorary Gryffindor?"

"Yeah, right!"

"Oh well, I tried to tell you…"

"And now with more feeling."

"Do you want to have your butt kicked from here to Wales?"

"Fine!" Blaise snorted and returned to her book.

Millicent smiled and went to sleep.

After a while, when it became obvious that Millicent was asleep and Pansy and the rest of the six years were coming back, Blaise Zabini put her book down and wondered, just what had her fellow Slytherin got herself into? And if she did, what was it to her, Blaise?

And why couldn't she find answers to those questions?

It was the last bit that disturbed Blaise most of all in all probability – that she didn't have any answers. That was bad, and her only potential source of information – Millicent – was downright dangerous: she _could_ easily kick Blaise's butt, even land her in the infirmary, as it almost happened to another girl some time ago: Millicent never joked around and couldn't tolerate humor at all.

So… what to do? Return to her novel? Blaise shook her head: this was much more exciting – and Voldemort-free, and that was the best thing.

Blaise finally smiled, and went to bed. She wasn't sure what was going to happen tomorrow, but she was going to keep an eye on Bulstrode all the same.


End file.
